Moments in Time: Realisations
by nomibubs
Summary: Set around the quest Alone: An offer of help would always stand to Hawke, no matter how long ago it was given. Betrayal leads to desperate acts and realisations for both her and Fenris. There is definitely more to this surprising friendship.
1. An Offer of Help

**Moments in Time – Realisations**

**An Offer of Help**

The rain soaked streets of Hightown passed in a blur as Hawke kept her head down, making her weary way toward the Chantry district and Fenris's mansion.

It was late. Dusk had long since come and gone, and with it any remaining daylight. The street lanterns that were lit struggled in the onslaught of heavy rain and high winds, and she cursed the necessity of having to be out in such foul weather when all she wanted was the warmth of her own bed and a good night's sleep.

She missed Juno. Her mabari's presence would have been a comfort right now, but he was otherwise engaged. According to Bodahn, one of Donnic's patrol had come for him earlier in the day. Aveline was still putting him to good use helping to train new recruits. No doubt by now he'd be settling down to a meaty supper by a warm fire, lucky dog!

Hawke, however, had been at the Keep for most of the day, forever a necessary intermediary whilst Knight-Commander Meredith and First-Enchanter Orsino insisted on constantly being at each other's throats. To cap it off nicely, she had to play mediator and put up with the snide sarcasm of that bastard, Seneschal Bran.

The arguments, the lies, the petty snark and pride were all still spinning around in her mind. Even now her head was aching, though the coolness of the air was doing something to soothe it. She was also starving. There had never been a moment's rest where she might sneak away to eat something during the day's tedious hours of fruitless peace keeping.

It had not been a good day, not that her days were ever good lately. The only recent excursions that had taken her out of Hightown had been at the Knight-Commander's bidding, to track down apostate mages, of all things, suspected of turning to blood magic. All done with the hidden agenda of Hawke witnessing the dangers faced daily by templars first hand.

_As if I wasn't blindingly aware already,_ she thought angrily.

At least it had given her the opportunity to do all she could to help those innocent of the suspected charges, but in only one case did the accused use of blood magic prove untrue. It had been a draining experience for many reasons, and her recovery was taking far longer than normal.

Perhaps it would have felt easier to bear if, at the end of the day, it was possible to leave it behind?

Unfortunately, that was never a feasible idea.

Anders was involved with the mage resistance up to his neck, and it appeared that only his close friendship with Hawke prevented any Templar intervention at present. He'd recently been spending a great deal of time at her estate, too. There more often than not when she returned at the end of the day and there when she awoke in the morning. He was certainly making thorough use of having access to her ever expanding library. In fact, she had wondered on numerous occasions if he ever left, having found him asleep one night when she had headed to the kitchen for a nightcap with his face pressed into a large book.

Then there was Fenris.

Or at least there had been.

His urgent summons was the first contact she'd had from him in over a fortnight. She would have welcomed his swift blade in her last few desperate encounters, certain she would have fared better in the heat of battle with his presence at her side.

_No doubt hunting down blood mages would have interested him too,_ she thought rather bitterly, but their last meeting had not ended well and it seemed, on this occasion, they had both been too stubborn to rectify the matter.

* * *

><p><em>He scowled at her before turning away to stare darkly into the fire, not deigning to look her in the eye any longer, his disgust apparent in his posture.<em>

_Incensed by his attitude toward her helping Anders and tired beyond reason, she drew out a single small glass phial from the leather pouch at her hip. She knew he was paying attention to her out of the corner of his eye so she gave no more warning than simply speaking his name before tossing the phial toward him._

_"Fenris!"_

_He caught it instinctively, as she knew he would. Hawke watched as he rolled it deftly between his long fingers, studying it keenly, his mouth forming a hard, disapproving line._

_"You recognise it, I presume?" she asked, her voice cold and unfamiliar even to herself._

_He didn't answer, he didn't need to, she could read his often inscrutable expression well enough now to see that he did. He'd frequently seen her use these phials in combat as a means of defence when all her mana and lyrium potions were spent. He had watched her make them on several occasions too, equally suspicious and curious as she concocted her own personal version of the combustion grenades Varric was so fond of._

_He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in question._

_"You believe a mage is such an unstable thing." Her eyes were trained on the ominously glowing phial in his hand as she spoke. As her comparison became clear, he looked at it again with a disgusted expression. "Tell me, would you hold something so potentially volatile in an iron grip?" she asked heatedly._

_Fenris shook his head with an infuriated sigh before standing up suddenly and turning to face her. "Mages in glass houses," he began pointedly, pacing toward her with a glower so intent and dangerous that it fixed her to the spot, "shouldn't throw fireballs!" He held the phial up in front of her face as he spoke, his voice low and simmering._

_Hawke turned even more defensive in response to his unusual closeness, lifting her chin defiantly, determined not to show how easily he could intimidate her._

Maker damn him! _she thought._

* * *

><p>The real issue had been how his attitude had put her in mind of earlier times, when Hawke had found herself at the sharp end of his greatsword for no reason besides being a mage - a mage he didn't know or wish to understand.<p>

She knew Fenris would have killed her back then without a moment's hesitation if he'd been able to find a reason. Luckily for her, these days, throwing a phial of liquid explosive at him didn't appear to qualify as enough incentive.

She wasn't usually so dramatic with her analogies. It was rare for her to lose her temper, but she wasn't without one - she was her mother's daughter. It was only odd because she normally kept such a tight rein on her emotions, just as her father had always taught her to do, and yet Fenris was somehow able to test and elude her defences endlessly. It left her feeling vulnerable, and that rankled.

Hawke tutted to herself, shaking her head angrily and scattering raindrops from her hood as past hurts succeeded in aggravating her once more. Fenris's good opinion mattered far, far too much sometimes.

She ran up the final flight of steps two at a time, skipping through the torrent of water that cascaded down them, and dashed to Fenris's familiar doorway grateful for the respite from the downpour. The decrepit state of the mansion meant the weather wouldn't improve much once inside, so Hawke left her makeshift hood in place as she pushed against the heavy front door, wincing slightly as it gave with a distinct creak.

The wind howled through the barren interior as she stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness within. She could hear the dripping water before she saw it, trickling steadily to form large murky puddles amidst the broken floor tiles. It seemed she would only be able to dry off properly upon reaching the single upstairs room that Fenris occupied.

With a long sigh, Hawke ventured inside, closing the stiff door behind her with a hard shove.

The mansion wasn't without its charms on sunnier days and clearer evenings. Its location in the Chantry district meant it had one of the highest vantage points in Kirkwall. It made star gazing through the broken roof far easier, with the view of the sky unimpeded by the glowing lights of the city.

Admittedly she'd had many pleasant evenings sitting at the top of the stairs simply watching the night go by with Fenris telling her what he knew of the different constellations. His knowledge differed from her schooling and she found his ideas infinitely more fascinating. When the mansion was cold and damp like this though, it felt sad and more than a little oppressive.

Crossing the entrance foyer, Hawke called out in greeting. Though there was no reply, she could see light emanating from Fenris's room on the first floor so continued undaunted towards the stairs.

On reaching the galleried landing she could make out two distinct voices. One obviously Fenris's deep gravelly timbre and the other a woman's that she didn't recognise at first. The idea that he might have other company was a thought that had never crossed her mind before. Her pace slowed as she found the notion oddly discomforting.

Forcefully pushing such unexpected insecurities from her mind, she cautiously took a few more steps forward to hear better hoping to catch the gist of their conversation before making her presence known. Almost instantly her mind relaxed, the lady in question was Aveline.

"Are you certain it's her?" Fenris asked irritably.

"An elf matching your description, on the ship you named, and alone as far as I could tell," Aveline responded, her voice calm - though Hawke was sure she could detect a hint of tightly controlled irritation. The discussion had clearly been ongoing for a while for the Guard-Captain's patience to be tested. Aveline usually handled Fenris's moodiness easily, but Hawke knew all too well how difficult and unreasonable he could be.

"I need to know if it's a trap!" he demanded, slamming his hands against the table in front of him as his agitation reached a peak.

Hawke winced at his attitude, and thought it best to intercede before Aveline was pushed into losing her temper also.

"I did as you asked, Fenris," Aveline sighed. "Now it's up to you." She looked to the door just as Hawke appeared, offering her a slight nod in greeting before getting to her feet and gathering up her cloak from where it had been drying by the fire. Casting one last look at Fenris's downcast face, she took her leave.

"You talk to him, Hawke," she suggested in passing, her voice showing undeniable cracks in her usually formidable stoicism. "I've had my fill for today."

Hawke turned her head to watch Aveline's armoured form disappear down the stairs and into the maelstrom of weather, sweeping her long cloak about her shoulders as she went. After a moment she thought she could make out the mansion's resistant front door being forced open and closed again, and realised she was just staring into the gathering shadows of the night when Fenris needed her attention.

He was still leaning against the table, the tension practically rolling off his back in visible waves. Hawke said nothing as she made her way into the room, unravelling her red hooded shawl as she went. She knew he would uncoil eventually. He just needed a moment to collect himself.

"Venhedis! Fasta Vass!" Fenris cursed, forcefully pushing himself away from the table before beginning his usual pacing.

Considering Hawke had been waiting for it, his outburst didn't faze her. Instead, she calmly took a seat by the fire and followed Aveline's example by draping her long shawl out next to her, hoping it might dry a bit before she had to leave.

"You look pale, Hawke."

The unexpected note of concern made her look up. Fenris was watching her from across the room, his dark eyes penetrating and obviously worried.

_Hello to you too,_ she thought, trying to formulate a suitable response, but struggled to hold his gaze for long, blushing despite herself as her mind filled with the sudden memories of other times they'd stared at each other for any length of time. Her brow furrowed as she realised it had been a constant issue for her ever since Aveline's wedding a few months back. _Damn him._

Fenris simply raised one of his dark eyebrows curiously, comprehending far more than she ever meant to express.

"I'm fine," she lied, hoping to alleviate how awkward she suddenly felt. Her stresses were not the reason she was here after all.

He looked away with a long sigh. "I'm sorry," he said.

Hawke couldn't help her astonishment. Fenris never apologised - it was so unexpected. "What for?" she asked.

"I haven't been here and I understand you might have needed..." As he met Hawke's slightly bemused expression, he changed tack mid-sentence. "You've been... busy," he simplified, and she realised that he must have been keeping track of her movements even if she hadn't seen him for a fortnight. She asked herself how, only to have one name come to mind: Varric.

"I'm sorry to make this day longer for you, too," Fenris added sincerely.

Hawke simply lifted a hand to wave off his concern, but noticed Fenris was no longer looking at her.

"It's my sister," he said, "I didn't tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana's information."

"Oh?" Of all the things Hawke had thought the problem could be, this was not it.

"Yes, everything she said was true," he continued, pausing to run a hand through his hair. "I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now, according to Aveline's information, she's here."

With everything that had transpired after Hadriana, Hawke had thought Fenris determined to leave the knowledge of his sister buried, assuming it was merely bait, all part of a trap set by Danarius. His former master was the only other soul alive who knew of Fenris's desperate desire to rediscover the memories the lyrium branding process had stolen from him. Their erasure having been what tightened the Magister's leash around Fenris's neck in the first place, dangling much sought after answers before him as a prize to be earned with compliance.

_It would have proven strong motivation,_ Hawke thought disgustedly. "Varania's here? So she was in Qarinus after all?" she asked.

"She left Magister Ahriman's service," explained Fenris. He walked toward the hearth and rested a hand upon the mantle, looking down at her briefly in passing before staring into the dimming fire. His expression darkened. "I found her in Minrathous. That made things more difficult."

"So I would imagine," Hawke replied, allowing her eyes to rest back on the comforting flames again.

Despite the fire's warm glow, she shivered uncontrollably as a cold gust of air blew through the open chamber door, sinking icy, unwelcome fingers through her and making her truly aware of how damp she was.

"But according to the men I paid it's just as Hadriana said; she's not a slave, she's a tailor, in fact." He smiled to himself at that knowledge, his voice resonating with a hint of pride.

When Hawke made no further comment, he looked back at her to see she was freezing, her arms wrapped around herself. Without a word, Fenris set about pulling the other bench closer to the fire, gesturing lightly to the end of it that was closest to the heat.

"Here, Hawke," he offered. "Set your cloak down where you are now, you'll be warmer without it whilst it's soaked through."

Without the energy to mollify his sudden concern, Hawke wearily got to her feet and did as she was bid. She wasn't really paying attention till she felt the cloak being pulled from her shoulders and turned to see Fenris laying it out over the bench next to her shawl. Then he closed the door, and retrieved a small cast iron pot and two cups from the shelves by the table with a low clatter. Within moments he was back, stooping down just in front of her to tend the dying blaze, building it back up again to boil water for a hot drink.

"Thank you," Hawke acknowledged, taking her new seat and smiling at his partially concealed profile. Fenris merely nodded in response to her gratitude as she lifted her hands toward the very welcome extra warmth now radiating from the fire.

"Getting a letter to her was difficult," he continued after a moment as if there had been no pause in their original conversation.

"I'm not surprised. I can't imagine how you even began to go about it?"

"She didn't believe me at first..." he mused quietly, before his voice trailed off to a whisper, "but she's finally come."

Hawke tilted her head to look at him easier as he remained partly hidden by his hair falling in his face. "You're afraid Danarius knows?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"The more it seems he doesn't know the more certain I become that he does!" Fenris replied heatedly, poking at the fire. It was quiet for a moment before he took a deep breath and turned to look up at her imploringly. "Come with me, Hawke. If this is a trap, I need someone who can fight to back me up."

This was why he'd asked her here tonight, she realised. To make sure an offer of help made years ago still stood. _As if it wouldn't?_ she thought dubiously, but Hawke could read the uncertainty in his dark green eyes all too well, despite the careful neutrality of the rest of his features. He wasn't sure she would help him and his doubt pained her deeply.

"Fenris," she whispered consolingly. Wanting to offer him some small amount of comfort, she found her hand half outstretched toward him before thinking better of it and letting it fall into her lap again. "I told you I'd be ready," she reminded him gently. "Nothing has happened in the past six years to change that fact. Except, perhaps... I care even more now. I'd like to think you were asking for my help as a friend though, Fenris, rather than simply mercenary backup this time." She smiled at his curious expression before casting an appraising eye over her own fine cloth robes. "However lightly I might be armoured these days," she added jokingly.

Fenris smiled before turning back to the task of making them both a drink. "We may not have been friends in the beginning, Hawke, but you must know that we are now."

"Being on the receiving end of that particular beginning, you have no idea how nice it is to hear you say that," she confessed.

"Even then, I always respected you," he admitted.

Hawke couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. Her own reflections upon that time and how she'd thought Fenris felt about her back then came up with quite a different word than 'respect'.

"It's true!" he assured. "You must have been doing something right. You really are the finest mage I've ever met."

"By the Maker, Fenris... such flattery will go straight to my head. Speaking of which," she made an obvious point of looking about the room before her eyes widened in feigned shock, "_that_ was said without a trace of Aggregio to hand?" She couldn't help but chuckle when he huffed indignantly and rolled his eyes.

"You don't know how much I had before you arrived," Fenris retorted with a small smile of his own.

"You'd be deliberately staring at me a lot more if you'd had any," she remarked unthinking. Despite its truth, she was left fidgeting uncomfortably, more than a little embarrassed by her choice of words.

Fenris didn't respond straight away, and the longer he remained quiet the more she felt her cheeks flush.

"I can always take it back, if you'd prefer?" he asked playfully, holding her suddenly nervous gaze once again.

She took a deep breath to help calm her racing heart, trying not to be too obvious about it, before shaking her head in answer to his question. "I just think it's funny how times change," she said, "remembering how our last meeting ended."

"Indeed," Fenris agreed. "You were certainly intent! Perhaps finest, melodramatic mage would describe you better? Though that was really the first time I'd ever seen you so."

"I'm sorry," Hawke began, but he cut her off by lifting a hand.

"It's done, Hawke, best leave it be."

She nodded at that, resigned. It truly couldn't have affected him as much as she'd feared else he would never have let it go so easily. A comfortable silence fell over them as the pot came to a boil and Fenris was distracted making up the cups of herbal tea.

The momentary quiet allowed Hawke to finally wonder why and when Fenris had made up his mind to find Varania, but before she could ask her empty stomach practically howled in dismay. Both of them burst into laughter simultaneously at the way she had broken the silence.

"Haven't you eaten?" Fenris asked, recovering his composure quickly. She shook her head and he rolled his eyes again, despairingly this time. Standing up quickly and leaving the tea to brew for a moment, he began digging through his own meagre food supplies on the far side of the room.

"It's alright, Fenris," Hawke said to his back. "I'll have something when I get home later."

"I would hope so," he answered over his shoulder, before apparently finding what he was after and returning to her, "but it would hardly do for you to collapse from hunger on your way back." Fenris held out a rather large linen-wrapped sweet cake for her.

"Is it your last one?" she asked, riddled with a mixture of guilt and undeniable temptation.

"Would it matter if it was?" he asked, amused for a moment before her eyes evidently told him 'it would'. "Just... take it, Hawke."

He cursed under his breath in Arcanum at her momentary reluctance, but she took it after a second. Fenris then knelt back down before the fire again and continued to prepare their drinks.

Hawke could feel him watching her as she eyed the cake with near reverence before taking a huge, unladylike bite out of it, sighing contentedly. It was beyond delicious.

He laughed quietly to himself at the sight before asking sarcastically, "I would have thought food an expected perk of being a noble?"

"So would I," she answered with her mouth full, gesturing apologetically for her lack of manners. She noticed how Fenris's eyes looked over her almost anxiously before he merely smiled, watching as she swallowed the uncomfortably large bite. "It would be nice to spend enough time at home to enjoy Orana's lovely cooking," she added honestly.

"Hmm," was all the response Fenris gave her as he turned away, and she worried that mentioning her elven servant, Orana, might have succeeded in offending him. She shrugged off the concern, she had said nothing wrong.

The companionable silence returned as she turned her attentions back to her sweet cake. Her mind wandered back as she ate, reconsidering her thoughts before she had been so rudely interrupted by her own grumbling innards.

"Could you answer me something?" she asked, wiping her slightly sticky fingers on the now empty linen cloth. Hawke was desperate to know Fenris's mind and see if her own conclusions were correct.

"That depends on the question," he replied, his expression slightly perplexed as he looked up at her again.

"Not that your response will affect my decision to help you in any way," she clarified and Fenris lifted his eyebrow quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "It's just I'd like to understand why? I thought you said there was no point to this, finding Varania?"

He'd looked away again almost as soon as she began speaking and remained fixed on his own busy hands now as he mulled over Hawke's question.

"I can't simply leave it like this," he replied, confirming her suspicions. "I have to know. It's time I knew. Just to see her, Hawke, it could reawaken in me what I've believed to be lost all these years. To know my family again? To feel I truly belong? It's more than I could dream." His voice broke slightly, expressing the sheer magnitude of emotion such thoughts wrought in him.

"I'll be there," she confirmed, trying desperately to conceal the moisture welling in her eyes.

"Thank you, Hawke. It means a lot to me," Fenris replied, passing her up a steaming cup of tea which she gratefully accepted.

"Just tell me where and when?" she asked.

"Varania's staying at the Hanged Man, of all places," Fenris explained, settling down on the floor in front of her and sipping gingerly at his own drink. "I'd like to go tomorrow if you're available?"

_The Hanged Man? Not the best place to lay a trap if that's truly what's waiting for us,_ Hawke considered. _It would be nice to think that Varania is as eager to know her brother again as he is to know her._ "Tomorrow it is then," she agreed, raising her cup to him.


	2. Desperate Acts

**Moments in Time – Realisations**

**Desperate Acts**

Rays of midday sun shone intensely through Hawke's fingers as she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. It had been months since she'd been here in any unofficial capacity.

Looking up at the once familiar sight of the Hanged Man and knowing the true symbolic meaning of the massive effigy hanging by one foot from the outside of the Inn, Hawke couldn't help but consider the suitability of this being the chosen place for Fenris to meet his sister.

The story behind the 'Hanged Man' was about a fool who settled beneath a tree intent on finding his spiritual self. After nine days of starvation and simply watching the world go by, he climbed the tree with no conscious thought and dangled himself from a branch upside down like a child, surrendering all that he was to… well, gravity, Hawke guessed. For some reason hanging upside down offered the man a new perspective on the world and gave him a true sense of clarity.

In this context, it was important to remember that the symbol of the 'hanged man' was not to represent a traitor or being inebriated - though she knew that was the main way people understood it. Nor did it even symbolise anything to do with life or death, disturbing as the image of a man bound and strung up by his ankle might appear. Instead, it was all about suspension. A being caught between what has been and what is to come. It was this idea that she found strangely apt.

Fenris's life was about to change; for the better, Hawke hoped, but right now he was caught, steeling himself to take those last few steps toward the Inn's front door. Until he did, they were held in a timeless moment of just staring at the inevitable path laid out before them, much as the Hanged Man continued to 'hang' above them, weightless as if underwater, observing, absorbing, seeing.

Hawke knew Fenris's undeniable fears of the unknown would not hold him for long, he was too courageous. _He will right himself eventually,_ she assured herself, _just as the 'hanged man' in the story._

She still felt exhausted, truth be told, though she was trying to disguise the weight she was leaning onto her staff supportively - not that Fenris appeared to have noticed. Her over-tiredness was possibly why her mind was wandering off on tangents about 'hanged men' so readily. She just couldn't shake this exhaustion. It was infuriating.

Anders had said it would pass, she just needed to give herself time to recover, but _that_ was something she had very little patience for as 'time' in general was not a luxury she could readily afford.

Fenris closed his eyes and began whispering meditatively to himself - in what must have been Arcanum, she couldn't understand a word of it. It was the first time he'd spoken since meeting her in Hightown Market.

She hadn't remained at his mansion long after finishing her drink last night, and upon heading home again had blessedly caught a break in the appalling weather.

Juno had been curled up by the fire in the main hall waiting patiently, not willing to sleep till he knew his Mistress had returned safely, and had nudged his head against her hand apologetically for not having been out with her. He was evidently still worried about her fragile state this morning as he leaned against her leg, trying to provide her further comfort and support whilst they waited on Fenris's momentary indecision.

_Blood mages!_ she cursed inwardly, and rubbed at her temple against the beginnings of a headache; smiling as she thought that was something Fenris might have said with similar venom.

What sleep she'd had in the end had been mercifully deep and restful, but she'd woken only wishing for more. Instead, realising she had slept the early morning away and was to meet Fenris before noon, Hawke had been forced to hastily gather herself together, simply pulling on her most comfortable leathers - that were feeling strangely loose these days - and tying up her unbrushed hair into a messy bun; hoping beyond hope that Fenris wasn't expecting her to dress up for the occasion of him meeting his sister. Thankfully, he had worn the same well fitting, slightly intimidating armour he always did and hadn't looked twice at Hawke's dishevelled appearance.

In stoic silence Fenris finally made for the door and Hawke, with Juno in tow, dutifully followed after him without a word.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hawke! Hawke!<em>"

The insistent call seemed far off, floating to her across a sea of infinite shadows. She knew it was her name; knew she should respond, but lacked the will to do so.

It was an eternity before she heard anything else.

"Cei vass anavru! Hawke!"

_I know that voice. I'm sure I know that voice. Fenris?_

"You're not going to make me carry you to that abomination's clinic are you?"

_You sound worried, you shouldn't be worried. You should never be worried... I'm here._

"She doesn't look good, Elf! She's practically delirious and this heat, she's burning up!"

_Varric? Is that… What are you doing here?_

"I live here, Hawke."

Her mind began to focus again at Varric's response and she realised the black waters that surrounded her were dimly lit with ghostly reflections. Her sight was drawn to the nearest one as she heard her name again.

"Hawke, look at me."

It was a face - _a beautiful face_. A pair of moss green eyes came into sudden focus, with dark brows knotted in concern beneath a haphazard, white fringe. _Fenris?_ - And with the clarity came burning agony.

A feral cry escaped Hawke's lips as her mind reeled in shock, desperate to return to the cool, dark, unfocused waters Fenris's voice had pulled her from. Her body felt sluggish as she frantically tried to drag herself away from the cause of such blinding pain, but the 'fire' was internal; she could not escape it.

"Hawke, look at me!" Fenris demanded, his aversion to touch completely forgotten as his bloody hands, free of spiky gauntlets, held beseechingly to either side of her face. He looked terrified and lost as she stared helplessly back at him.

"Fenris?" she whimpered, tears escaping to roll down her face and over his fingers.

Within seconds he was standing up; pulling Hawke to her feet, despite her anguished sobs as he did so, and lifted her near effortlessly into his arms.

"Stay awake, Hawke! Listen to me, stay awake!" he growled, repeating the order again and again as the enveloping pain left her convulsing uncontrollably.

True awareness was ebbing away, but Hawke could still distantly feel the breeze in her long hair as they moved; the warmth of the afternoon sun caressing her burning flesh. She faintly recalled it _had_ been a nice day before they'd entered the nightmare awaiting them in the Hanged Man.

Her vision swam, dimming to nothing bar Fenris's face, so close now he must have been able to feel her ragged breaths on his neck. Her last clear memory was of seeing him thrown down a flight of stairs and set upon by several demons summoned by Danarius.

"I, I thought you'd died," she said, her voice cracking weakly, clinging in awe to the sight of him, as if his image was the only thing keeping her from the abyss.

Her hand touched the side of his face tenderly as she spoke, unafraid for the first time that he would recoil, or that she might hurt him. Everything that was prevalent between them felt forgotten in those strange, endless moments between agony and nothing. His smooth, faintly tanned skin glistened slightly under her fingers, she noticed. No doubt with the overexertion of the fight she thought had killed him, to now, with the desperate effort of carrying her as swiftly as possible through the streets of Lowtown.

Hawke's light touch drew Fenris's attention just in time to witness her battle to remain conscious come to an end.

"I'm so... sorry," she whispered as her swollen, blood-shot eyes rolled back in her head.

"Hawke?"

Her gentle hand slipped limply from his cheek.

_"Hawke!"_ Fenris cried out futilely, breaking into a sprint; uncaring of the looks he received from curious passers-by.

"Hey, Elf!" Varric called, realising he was being left to trail behind in Fenris's wake, along with Hawke's injured mabari.

Fenris no longer cared. Hawke was the only thing that mattered. The only person left in the world who truly meant anything to him, and she was dying in his arms all because of _him_.

_Fasta Vass!_ he cursed, shaking his head angrily. _My ridiculous hopes brought her to this. This is my fault. My fault._ Still his guilt laden, aching limbs refused to run any faster.

After what seemed to take hours in his desperate urgency to get Hawke aid, Fenris stumbled the last few steps outside Anders's hidden clinic. Growling in ardent frustration when he noticed that the lantern hanging above the secret entrance remained unlit - A sign that the door was locked and the clinic closed.

Resolute, he marched straight up to where he knew the door existed, and after adjusting Hawke's dead weight in his arms, lifted his leg and slammed his foot into the panelling with all the energy he could muster. The wood gave instantly, shattering around the disguised lock and collapsing inward in a shower of splinters.

"Anders!" Fenris called out into the dark space beyond, passing carefully over the threshold and shielding Hawke's body with his own from broken pieces of wood.

The clinic was empty as he carried her through it, beginning to panic in earnest; remembering what she had mentioned on a previous visit to his mansion about the abomination spending a lot of time at her estate.

_She won't survive much longer, what if the mage isn't even here? _

"Anders!" Fenris called out again, his voice wavering between anger and despair. He gently lay Hawke down on one of the pallet beds, brushing aside the raven hair that had fallen over her face. "Anders!"

"Fenris?" The responding voice was low and ethereal.

He turned to see Anders leaning heavily in the doorway that led to a private room at the back of the clinic, his eyes aglow with Justice's presence. The mage's staff was held out defensively while a pale orb of light hovered above his other open palm casting a dim haze over the room. Their mutual hatred filled the space between them as they stared intently at one another.

"What are you doing he..." Anders began with disdain, but the question died on his lips as his eyes found Hawke's outstretched form lying deathly still behind Fenris. The power of the Fade Spirit drained away, along with all remaining colour from Anders's face.

Shakily he made his way forward, propping up his staff against the wall whilst whispering Hawke's given name despondently. The healer's instincts took over then and he softly placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

"Maker," he uttered in shock, feeling at the feverish heat of her skin. The orb of light shifted helpfully to hover overhead, and to his evident horror, Anders was able to see her face clearly for the first time. "Who did this?" he asked, gently probing the swelling about her eyes.

"_Danarius,_" Fenris cursed in answer, not looking up from the sight of Hawke's tortured face.

"Danarius? As in your former Master?" Anders asked concernedly.

Fenris simply nodded once in response, watching intently as the mage's well practised hands went to work, glowing brightly as he assessed the damage the Magister had done. He lifted Hawke's arm into the light suddenly having noticed the faint spiralling scars covering her skin.

"These are new," he said in disgust. "Did Danarius do this too?"

Fenris could barely respond, lost in a sudden wave of unbidden jealousy. That Anders was somehow familiar enough with Hawke's body to know which scars were fresh…? Gods knew she'd accumulated countless injuries over the years. Most of which she'd had to treat when they were away from the city, but, perhaps she always had the abomination check them over on her return? Perhaps he simply took such opportunities to see as much as he could?

_Asinu,_ Fenris thought fiercely.

"He didn't heal this. What would be the point?" Anders continued, pondering to himself. "If Hawke had the strength to do this... "

"It was Varania," Fenris managed finally, though his voice was hollow and weak.

Anders looked up irritably. "Who in the Maker's name is Varania?"

"My... sister," Fenris answered, pained to admit it, especially to the abomination.

"Your_ sister_?" Anders paused, letting that piece of information sink in completely. "Your sister's a mage?"

"Elf? Blondie? Anyone left alive in there?" Varric called out from the Clinic entrance, possibly the instant he was confronted with the remnants of the once secret door.

With a sharp shake of his head Anders focused his attentions back on Hawke. "You're a bloody hypocrite, Fenris," he remarked scathingly.

Varric appeared seconds later cutting short any reply Fenris could have thought to make, but he couldn't summon the will, his attention briefly caught by the sight of Juno limping heavily to Hawke's bedside to rest his head by her hand, nudging her fingers with his nose hopefully. She didn't respond.

Silence fell as dread consumed them, left only able to watch as Anders cast spell after _blighted_ spell. Each appearing as ineffectual as the last whilst Hawke remained unconscious and to all the world, dead.

"What's wrong with her, Blondie?" Varric asked at length, apparently unable to stand the wait any longer.

The mage didn't answer at first, too lost in concentration as beads of sweat began forming on his forehead from his efforts.

"_Blood magic_," was his strained and breathless answer. "It's... blood magic. I've never come across anything deadlier. I'm struggling, to stop the effects... spreading... further!" The healing glow emanating from his fingertips suddenly faded as he took a shaky step back, sighing with exhaustion.

"How is she?" Varric asked as Juno whimpered concernedly beside him.

"Stable, if still critical." Anders covered his face with his hands as he spoke, taking a steadying breath before letting them slide away. "It looks like he, Danarius, began augmenting her powers." He lifted Hawke's scarred arm into view once again; frowning deeply.

"Shit, that doesn't sound good," said Varric, running his hand through his hair nervously.

Anders looked down into Hawke's face and closed his eyes. "It isn't," he replied gravely, resting her arm back at her side.

"But you can heal her right? She's going to be okay?"

"I don't know, Varric," Anders answered. "She was already weak."

"Verimas!" Fenris snapped, his own exhaustion and undeniable fear for Hawke's life sapping his remaining, minimal patience for the abomination. "What do you mean '_you don't know'_? Can you heal her or not?"

"I mean just _that_," Anders replied agitatedly. "I don't know."

"But she was talking only a few minutes ago Blondie, and Danarius," Varric looked fleetingly at Fenris, his eyes wincing slightly as his hand reflexively covered his throat, "well, let's just say the guy isn't going to be blowing any wind instruments any time soon. How can his magic still be affecting her?"

Anders looked between them quickly, his eyes marking Varric's nervous gesture and narrowing in disapproval. "If you drop a pebble in a pond, Varric, the effect doesn't end with the initial impact, the ripples spread," he explained.

"Right now, Blondie, slightly less articulation would be appreciated!"

"Just because the caster isn't able to receive the 'benefits' of his augmentation spell, that doesn't mean the effects aren't still active."

His explanation only served to make Fenris snort in disgust. "If you let her die, I'll kill you," he promised vehemently.

"_Wonderful_ incentive, Elf!" Varric sighed under his breath.

"I said, 'I don't know' meaning: I don't know if what I can do will work - not that I wouldn't try you infuriating bastard!" Anders retorted, his jaw clenching. "What in Thedas was she doing fighting against Danarius anyway?"

Fenris refused to meet the abomination's accusatory glare.

"You knew didn't you?" Anders fumed. "You knew what you were potentially leading her into. Did you even tell her?"

"Don't think to know my mind mage," Fenris snarled, looking up at Anders dangerously. "Hawke is stronger than you give her credit for and in full awareness of the facts which you are not!"

"But you took her alone you bloody imbecile!" The insult was offered with all the contempt and scorn Anders could summon as he hunched in on himself again, desperate to keep control over Justice when Hawke needed his healing skills so badly.

Juno growled, showing his frustration at both of them for choosing now to have this argument.

"Did it escape your notice how fragile she was already?" Anders asked disparagingly. "Did you even care?"

Fenris's eyes widened as the mage struck a blow to the guilt already threatening to drown him. He had noticed. _Of course_ he'd noticed. She was pale and drawn, slighter than was healthy for her, but it had not stopped him selfishly asking for her aid. She was the only one he trusted.

"You stand there threatening me, Fenris, but I'm not the one who put Hawke in danger."

"And the fact that she lives in constant danger whenever you're close by, whether from Templars, other mages or just perhaps yourself, _abomination_, escapes your notice does it?"

"That's rich. Whose clinic are you stood in?" Anders asked angrily. Fenris grimaced. "It seems magic is good enough for you when it serves a purpose like saving your life! That's why you had her there isn't it, to shield your unworthy ass?"

There was so much more to it than that. There was, but right then Fenris couldn't see beyond Anders's words, remembering his own when he'd asked for her help.

_"Come with me, Hawke. If this is a trap I need someone who can fight to back me up." _

He gripped the edge of the pallet bed, fingers aching, trying to control his frantic urge to throttle the mage who was Hawke's only chance of survival.

"Well think on this, Fenris," Anders continued, near delighting in the fact that Fenris was showing cracks in his usually stony demeanour.

He looked away, closing his eyes tight as if Anders was about to punch him.

"There's no way Hawke would have fallen prey to an augmentation hex if she had been concentrating on her own protection at the time. She's potentially dying because of _you_!"

"You think I don't know that!" Fenris roared, his control snapping and lyrium brands flaring to life.

Anders was momentarily stunned by the outburst of raw emotion; left staring dumbly at the glowing elf who fixed him to the spot with a hollow glare.

"Venhedis!" Fenris yelled, pushing himself away before his near-overwhelming desire to kill got the better of him. He stormed back to the clinic entrance, hammering a large, empty storage crate into the wall as he went. With that, Fenris was gone.

"Good riddance," muttered Anders, swiftly collecting himself again and briefly looking at Varric's astonished face before turning his attentions back to Hawke.

"Remind me to ask you if that was completely necessary once Hawke's kicked your ass, Blondie. I mean... _shit_." Varric looked warily over at the wreckage Fenris had left behind. "Didn't you hear what I said happened to Danarius?"

"Yes, I heard you. But after seeing that _elf_ rip a man's beating heart from their chest, I am wondering why you're so surprised?"

"Who said anything about being surprised?" replied Varric. "As far as I can see the Magister had it coming, but excuse me if I've got enough warmth for my own innards not to antagonise the elf who could readily deprive me of them."

"My 'innards' are the least of my worries right now, but if you're so concerned about his feelings, you're welcome to follow him."

Varric lifted his palms defensively. "Alright, Blondie, I hear you. As much as Elf means nothing to you but a pain in the balls, and I find him, for the most part, approachable as an angsty porcupine, he does mean something to Hawke. I accept that curiousness about her, really! It's endearing. I think for your own sake it's time you accepted it too. It's obviously not one sided." He gestured slightly to Fenris's sudden absence. "Else you'd have been on the wrong end of that magical fisting thing he does years ago."

"You think I care?"

"No, but I think you should perhaps be a touch more aware of just how much Hawke sticks her neck out for you with him."

Anders glanced up from her face to look at Varric questioningly.

"What, you think their friendship is easy?" Varric asked.

Anders didn't respond. He didn't want to think about it.

"You know the other thing about Hawke, Blondie? She's got her head screwed on. A little too tight sometimes, and I'll be a son of a nug if she didn't know exactly what she was doing there with Elf today, despite the risks. I'd wager my family's cast pin on it."

Anders sighed, defeated. He leaned forward, cupping the side of Hawke's face in his hand tenderly. For a long moment he simply studied her, his eyes distant and disturbed. "Oh, Marian," he whispered softly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his jealous mind.

Eventually Anders straightened up next to her, his hands glowing with the summoning of the strongest healing magic he knew.

* * *

><p>The Fade bent and shimmered, struggling to contain the mass of imagery Hawke stirred to life about her. She stood motionless in the chaos, directly impacting but no longer influenced by what she saw, like the eye of a storm that continued to grow in ferocity the closer she came to the void.<p>

Only one thing was certain, when the world sporadically faded, all she could recognise in the nothing was Fenris, her essence clinging desperately to that last memory of his face and the knowledge that he was miraculously alive.

_"I will not let you take him," Hawke growled through gritted teeth, her will clashing against Danarius's continually as she fought back his binding dark magic._

_"How touching," came the Magister's sneering reply, "yet you're in no further condition to help him, or yourself though you continue to fight," he paused, looking down at her struggling, indifferent for a moment. "Admirable, but… it's over."_

_The sheer truth of his words seemed to crush all Hawke's remaining strength and defences, the dregs of her mana vanishing to nothing. She was left numb and disoriented as Danarius's spell of paralysis washed over her; morbidly transfixed by the slightly feminine sway of his hips as he confidently walked forward._

_"Such a waste," he said, stooping down in front of her and bringing his face and piercing grey eyes into view. "Something so... delectable. You have the purest magical talent I have ever come across - untainted in any way." His expression was almost hungry as she felt him trace a well-practised caress down the exposed skin of her arm. "And strong," he continued in response to his findings._

Though she remained unable to recoil as she wished, Hawke suddenly had a great affinity for Fenris's aversion to touch.

_"I'd wager you came into your power very young." Danarius looked over her palm as if able to read the answer to his pondering there. "It would be worthy of augmenting," he added in afterthought, letting her hand drop back into her lap._

_Suddenly, cold, unyielding fingers clasped Hawke's chin lifting her face unwillingly closer. "And you owe me!" he spat in a venomous whisper. "For years you've kept him from me. He was mine, body and soul. Do you truly think he wouldn't have returned to me otherwise?"_

Hawkes mind rebelled even if the words could not be spoken aloud.

_'He's had a true taste of freedom, Danarius. There's no way you'll have him now,' she thought victoriously, but sudden doubt claimed her heart in spite of her seething conviction.  
><em>  
><em>Fenris was speaking to her after having drunk himself into a near stupor. Apparently, he'd been celebrating the anniversary of his escape from Danarius; feigning cheerfulness as he recounted the tale at length to her, until the gruesome admission of what his freedom had cost came out.<em>

_"I had grown fond of the rebels. They refused to let Danarius take me when he returned. He ordered me to kill them, so I did. I... killed them all."_

_Danarius unsheathed a dagger from the belt at his waist. Its sharpened edge glistened menacingly as he held it before Hawke's face._

_"Now, I can't promise this won't hurt, Champion," he grinned evilly, enjoying her eyes noticeably flinch at what she knew was to come. "You made your choice," he drawled, before chanting the beginnings of the augmentation ritual._

He was right, too, she had.

It had been a desperate moment.

_Fenris and Hawke were side by side, endlessly fighting to hold the stairs and their only advantage against the numbers that assailed them. Forcing their attackers to bunch closer together left them vulnerable to the mighty swings of Fenris's great sword while Hawke's chain-lightning coursed through their ranks continuously._

_She had been gathering her will, momentarily distracted, concentrating solely on the swirling powers she summoned from the Fade when she felt Fenris's arm across her middle pushing her back into the corridor behind. She stumbled, falling over scattered debris and looked up just in time to see a great eruption of dark magic explode not feet away from where she had been stood seconds before._

Danarius, _she realised furiously. _

_The blast passed through Fenris ineffectually as he allowed his body to phase completely, but the remaining Tevinter hirelings on the stairs before him died instantly._

_A deep stillness filled the space about them._

_Danarius had vanished._

_Hawke found her feet, leaning heavily on her staff as Fenris re-solidified his being, staring anxiously about with his sword held out before him. She could see his battered body was bloodied from more than just the wounds he had inflicted on his enemies; it was a wonder he remained standing. He needed healing, but as their eyes met all she could see was the same concern for her mirrored in his expression. He shook his head fractionally and pulled a health potion from his belt pack, refusing to drain her mana further._

_Fenris barely had chance to bring the phial to his lips when the air became heavy about them, pounding like a pulse in their ears._

_"Maker," uttered Hawke. "Fenris!"_

_He looked at her, eyes widening._

_"He's torn the Veil!"_

_Even as she called out to him the floor, walls and ceiling began to visibly swell, bruising purple and black under the constant hammering of the many demons summoned; now seeking to cross the threshold of the Fade. Fenris ran toward her, but he never made it._

_Hawke had no chance of deflecting the Magister's attack. He reappeared so fast, gathering his will with such incredible speed, it left her only enough time to turn and watch the pile of stone come barrelling toward her. Her mind recoiled, readying for an impact that never came. Juno leapt seemingly from nowhere taking the brunt of the spell into his side. With a yelp, he was sent careering into the wall where he slumped to the floor and did not stir._

_"Ferelden dog!" Danarius cursed, summoning another spell instantly, but Hawke was ready this time, anger fuelling her depleted will as with a flourishing spin she brought the end of her staff hammering down into the ground at her feet raining fork lightning upon the Magister. His summoned shield barely deflected her fury. She had him._

Horror then.

_Her eyes strayed to her companion. Fenris had been forced to un-phase again, his seemingly endless stamina finally having failed him. It was his deadly skill alone that had beaten back the Shades now hovering unnerved at the foot of the stairs. She swiftly realised the spectres had retreated for more reason than fearing to meet his blade. The floor gave way at Fenris's heels as in molten fury a Rage Demon roared up behind him. Fenris turned to fight, but before he could swing his sword he was enveloped within a swirling torrent of flame._

_Hawke could sense Danarius's dark will gathering another spell before her, she knew she was about to feel his wrath in earnest, even as terror gripped her at the sight of Fenris being burned alive, and there was the choice._

Protect herself or protect her friend?

It was never really in question. She could not let Fenris die.

_With no care for her own defence, Hawke summoned the greatest healing spell she could and let it wash over him. Revitalised, Fenris rolled clear of the flames, swinging his sword defiantly as he found his feet again.  
>The hope she felt at the sight was short lived, however, as a sudden brutal swipe from the Rage Demon sent Fenris crashing down the stairs out of sight and into the waiting horde of Shades.<em>

_Crippling agony gripped Hawke then as Danarius's unchecked spell was unleashed. She was lifted several feet off the floor and unceremoniously crushed before her limp body was dropped in a heap._

_She sucked in great lungful's of air, feeling her ribs protesting with every breath. Some were broken, she knew. Her heart raced uncontrollably on adrenaline and fear as she tried to right herself again, gagging on the taste of blood in her mouth and wincing with every attempted movement. She had no idea whether her healing spell had been enough. It had cost her everything, but she found in that moment all she could think was how she had failed her friend._

The quiet Arcanum chant that Danarius had begun faded as the images shifted again.

_"We may not have been friends in the beginning Hawke, but you must know, we are now."_

As Hawke found herself looking down at a very different blade to Danarius's dagger, she finally asked herself the question she had never spoken: _Just friends?_

_The sword owner's face was in deep shadow while the sharp point of the massive sword, hovering just below her chin, shimmered in the rays of moonlight. Fenris's deep, guarded voice came to her out of the darkness._

_"There are few mages I know able to look down the blades edge without a trace of fear. You truly are more dangerous than I first thought."_

_Without a trace of fear?_ she wondered. _Is that truly what he saw?_ She had been terrified at the time.

_A vapour of blood swirled about the length of the blade Danarius brandished. It was his own, something to begin the augmentation with and bind Hawke's life energy inextricably to his own. The Magister's eyes glowed with the dark power that coursed through him; his expression equally crazed and exultant as he leered over her. Then, as a painter might stand reflecting upon an empty canvas, wondering at that initial stroke of a brush, Danarius deliberated over Hawke's body where to carve the magic into her flesh, dragging the point of cold steel over various parts of her anatomy thoughtfully. His eyes found the pale unblemished skin of her outstretched arm and he smiled wickedly. Of course, she could not be allowed to die too quickly._

_She barely felt the initial bite of the knife as the Magister began to cut a pattern along the length of her forearm. It was gruesomely familiar. A series of elegant, gracefully swirling curves soon lost behind a thick coating of red as her blood ran in earnest, pulsing in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. His fingers coiled round his gory masterpiece then, and she could only watch in mute terror as her blood stopped seeping into her lap and - with an intense glow of his hand - began being drawn into Danarius instead._

_Excruciating pain seared through Hawke's body; her mind screamed in anguish though she could give no outward sign of the agony. Her terrified eyes watched dark red tendrils crawl beneath the skin of Magister's hand and disappear behind his robe sleeve. Mere seconds later she noticed they appeared above his collar, creeping up to his jawline as he rolled his neck at the sensation of her powers being added to his own._

_Her body was going into shock, she could feel un-consciousness claiming her, and was only numbly aware of Danarius's whispered euphoria. Her eyes strained to look in the direction of where she had last seen Fenris fighting for his life. Where was he now? Was he truly dead?_

Reliving the fear she had known for him at that moment forced her mind to react defensively. He was her focus now, her head filling with brief, insistent flashes of him from differing times. All the while her heart repeated its soothing mantra over and over. _No, he's alive. Fenris is alive._

_He loomed up dark and silent as a wraith behind the unaware Magister, terrifying and glorious as his anger set him on fire with a blue glow. Only when Danarius felt the subtle contact of Fenris's gauntleted fingers about his neck did his eyes show the panic. He knew then what was to come._

_With a brutal pull, Danarius was gone. Fenris sent him flying across the space behind him into a stack of barrels and crates that disintegrated beneath the mighty impact._

_Hawke knew she was released from the Magister's spell, she could sense her body able to stir, but she could only stare up at Fenris as he stared down at her, and time slowed between them - his dark green eyes lingering on hers with more than just a furious lust for revenge. He cared about her, more than she'd ever realised. She watched as he took in the sight of her maimed arm. His lip curled in a snarl as he turned away._

_She panicked, thinking him leaving her there, but soon understood he was stalking over to where Danarius was stirring to life out of the settling dust and shattered wood._

_"Fenris, I am your Master. I order you to stop!" His voice was shaking with undeniable dread as his creation, undeterred by the command, mercilessly reached down and grasped him by the throat, lifting him easily into the air with the one hand. "Fenris," Danarius gasped, clawing madly to find purchase on Fenris's iron grip._

_Spiky gauntleted fingers pierced Danarius's skin as Fenris held him there for a moment, clearly relishing the fear he had waited so long to bestow upon the bastard who had tortured his life and refused to let him be. He glared up at his former Master with cold, resolute eyes._

_"You are no longer my Master," he growled fiercely, cleanly ripping out the Magister's throat in a red haze of arterial spray. Danarius's body slumped to the floor, his last bloody breaths gurgling out of the torn hole in his neck with sickening pops._

_Fenris turned to look at her again then, stepping away from the pooling blood at his feet. His body hunched with a thousand hurts both mental and physical, and Hawke watched the warring emotions blazing through his eyes in an instant. The last was outrage._

_"Get away from her!" he roared, rushing back._

_Having eyes only for him in that moment Hawke hadn't noticed Varania at her side, holding her damaged arm in hand. The elf was trying desperately to stem the flow of blood that had resumed the moment Fenris had torn Danarius's grip away. She determinedly continued her efforts despite her brother's anger. Hawke barely cared, her mind remained blissfully unfocused, though as Varania began to speak she desperately tried to listen._

_"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto."_


	3. A Sense of Belonging

**Moments in Time – Realisations**

**A Sense of Belonging**

"Leto," Hawke whispered, her lips lingering on fading dreams even as her eyes slowly blinked back to consciousness. She looked up at a derelict wooden ceiling wondering faintly where in the world she was when her body began to protest profusely at being awake. The sudden onslaught of aches and pains evoked an uncontrollable moan from her instantly bringing Anders to her side.

"Marian? Maker, you're awake already."

"Anders? Where, what..." Hawke began, her mind struggling to recall anything now that her essence was being assaulted by the waking world again.

"Easy, don't rush." Anders placed his hands to her shoulders and gently stopped her from attempting to sit up. She didn't fight him and let her head rest back again, overcome with sudden dizziness. "You're in my Clinic. You'd been critically injured. By rights, you shouldn't have regained consciousness yet... Do you remember anything?"

Even as her mind clutched feebly at various answers, none were forthcoming. She groaned with the effort of thinking and rested her arm over her face. "Only a big _blurge_," she mumbled.

Hawke knew this would not be a good enough answer, but Anders remained surprisingly quiet. She sighed with content at feeling his familiar healing magic flow through her. The soothing nature of it dulled the throbbing of her injuries and Hawke allowed herself to relax under his skilled attentiveness. Gradually her eyes slipped shut again beneath the crook of her arm.

"What were you thinking?" he asked at length, continuing to work over her. His voice, a mixture of concern and irritation, pulled her back from the edge of sleep with an incredulous tug.

"Anders," she began tiredly, seeing his stern, disapproving face. "I can barely register what I'm thinking now with any coherency. Please don't ask about past thoughts just yet."

"You nearly died," he pressed.

"But I didn't," she answered flatly, and with a groan she pushed herself up, pointedly ignoring Anders's mutterings as he relented and let her - though he continued to hover, ready to steady her if needed.

Hawke managed, rather gingerly, to edge her weight around and sit with her legs hanging off the side of the pallet bed. It was then that she noticed Juno lying unmoving on the bed opposite, his hind leg wrapped in a tight bandage.

"He'll be alright," Anders assured. "I had to put him to sleep while I reset his leg. He must have taken quite a tumble, though I can't imagine what could have knocked him off his legs. He's a sturdy one. Took both myself and Varric to turn his dead-weight over."

Hawke said nothing as she continued to stare at her faithful mabari, struggling to remember what _had_ happened to him.

"No doubt he'll come round soon. Somehow, he'll know you're awake." Even as Anders finished speaking Juno's face twitched wakefully.

"Your skills are second to none," Hawke complimented after a moment, offering Anders a small smile before clutching her head against the returning giddiness and pounding ache inside her skull.

She felt him step closer, his hands gently guiding her toward him allowing her forehead to rest against his chest. She wanted to pull away, but lacked the strength at first. Anders's touch, though comforting, felt unwelcome to her for some reason. It was too intimate - especially when his right hand began softly massaging the back of her neck. Hawke opened her eyes, ready to lift her head, but was instantly consumed by the gory remnants of her tattered leathers. Their bloodied appearance brought about such an explosion of imagery that she physically reeled, totally overwhelmed.

_The intermingled smells of sweat, tobacco, stale beer and vomit assaulting her senses upon entering the Hanged Man._

For all the griminess it was the Inn's overwhelming silence that was truly disturbing.

The unfamiliar barman drying out the inside of pint mugs with unskilled hands.

Her unheeded concern whispered to Fenris. "It's too quiet, we must be careful."

"Varania?" She heard him mutter as they approached a red headed elven woman with porcelain coloured skin and dark green eyes so strikingly similar to Fenris's there could be no doubt she was his sister.

"Varania," Hawke said abruptly, looking up at Anders startled face. "What happened to her?"

"Fenris's sister?" he enquired harshly. "I honestly don't know, Marian. He said she healed your arm, but that was all."

"She healed my..." Hawke lifted her arm into the light, forcing Anders to take an unwilling step back. At just the right angle spiralling scars became clearly visible along the length of it.

"It really happened," she whispered, quietly horrified; letting her arm fall back into her lap as she stared vacantly ahead. She could see it all now. It was as if one memory brought about the next, and then another and another, unravelling the whole terrifying circumstance before her. Hawke covered her face despondently. "I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. Oh, Maker, what have I done?"

"What do you mean?" asked Anders concerned, reaching toward her.

"Fenris, where is he?" she asked, frantically looking about the clinic as if he might be occupying another of the beds. _He'd been injured hadn't he, though Maker knows how he carried me here if he were?_ "Fenris was here?" she asked Anders, uncertainly, but never gave him chance to reply. "Of course, he must have been to have told you about Varania. I must go to him," she declared, shuffling unsteadily off the edge of the bed and catching herself as her knees gave way.

"You must go to him?" Anders repeated in disbelief, quickly leaning forward to support her. "He's the reason you nearly died, Marian!"

"No." Hawke lifted a hand to his chest pleadingly, wishing to allay his frustration. "Anders, he's the reason I'm alive. He brought me here didn't he, to you?"

Anders turned away, scowling. Somehow her attempt to pacify him looked to have insulted him instead.

"A lot of things happened," she continued, watching him carefully. "Some things... well, they need explaining. I, I need to talk to him."

He looked down at her again, his expression notably unconvinced.

She smiled softly. "He did bring me to you."

"And destroyed half my clinic in the process," Anders snapped, gesturing to piles of broken wood that littered the floor.

Hawke knew that this was not the true reason behind his outburst. He would not have been like this had it been Varric she needed to see, of that she was certain.

"I will make sure repairs are made," she replied, heatedly, trying to pull back from his support.

"That is not for you to do," Anders retorted, not letting her move away as she wished. "Just wait a moment," he insisted impatiently when she staggered again. "You can barely stand, let alone walk anywhere."

Hawke did as she was told and leant back against the bed while Anders retrieved something off the near side table.

"Here," he said, offering her a small phial filled with dark red liquid.

"Elfroot?" she asked, eyeing it briefly.

Anders nodded, and watched as Hawke uncorked the phial and downed the contents in one. Her face screwed up at the bitter after taste but the effect of the healing potion was immediate. It flowed through her with comforting warmth, restoring a large volume of her strength which she tested immediately, standing up straight without Anders's continued support.

Rolling her neck experimentally, Hawke smiled with satisfaction when it noticeably 'cracked' back into place. "Andraste's mercy, that's so much better," she sighed, rubbing at the base of her skull.

"That alone won't do, you know that," Anders insisted. "You'll quickly feel like you've been punched in the gut again. You need bed rest. I'm serious," he added in response to the 'you worry too much' look she afforded him.

"I'll be alright," she assured, patting him on the shoulder consolingly.

"He's dangerous, Marian!"

Hawke pretended not to hear Anders's remark as she moved passed him to check on her mabari. She knew better than anyone how dangerous Fenris could be, she wasn't a fool. _Though he's still no more dangerous than anyone else I seem to know,_ she added in afterthought, stroking Juno fondly. He whimpered plaintively at her touch till she soothed him into a calm slumber again.

"If Juno wakes up before I return," Hawke began quietly, glancing at Anders over her shoulder, "and he can walk soundly, tell him I'm alright and to follow me home."

"_Please,_" Anders begged, and the urgency in his voice stopped Hawke in her tracks as she headed for the clinic entrance. "Please, don't go."

She looked back at him, watching the indecision of some 'inner' argument play across his features. He was at war with Justice, with himself, even now. It was curious to note how little she felt on witnessing the hurt her wanting to leave obviously caused him. A hurt he did nothing to hide.

"I'm sorry, Anders. I have to." Hawke watched as his eyes narrowed from betrayal before he simply turned his back on her, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

"Then go," he demanded.

The unexpected sting of his parting words found Hawke reaching out to him, but Anders ignored her presence, and his obvious attempt at making her feel guilty only succeeded in serving as a reminder: pity was the only comfort she could offer him now.

_He wouldn't want that, surely?_ she asked herself, finding she wasn't at all certain of the answer.

When Anders deigned to look back over his shoulder, Hawke was gone.

* * *

><p>It was into the middle of a full kitchen and late dinner that Hawke emerged unexpectedly, shocking the Void out of Orana and Bodahn both as she staggered through the estate's cellar entrance to Darktown. Only Sandal remained unmoved, though he laughed animatedly at Orana's squeal as she dropped her cutlery.<p>

"Where's Ruff?" he asked Hawke, speaking his pet name for Juno as a 'bark'.

"He'll be along," she replied with a tired grin, finding Sandal's distant, but continuous smile infectious.

"The Guard Captain has not long been gone," Bodahn informed her, recovering himself quickly, though his eyes remained worried as he took in Hawke's appearance.

"Aveline? Was she alright?"

"Yes, Messere. She was merely returning your staff. She told us you were staying at Master Anders's Clinic, though I must admit to thinking that was the case when you didn't come home yesterday."

"My staff?... _Yesterday_?" Hawke gasped. "Sweet, Maker, and Anders hadn't expected me to wake up just yet, either." With the memories of everything that had transpired coming back in such a rush, she hadn't even thought to ask him. Her overwhelming fear for Fenris had left it impossible to consider the present with any candour.

"Mistress?" Orana asked, looking on anxiously. Her hands were held out as she stepped forward, as if fearing Hawke was about to collapse.

"It's alright, Orana." Hawke took one of the elf's nervous hands in both of hers comfortingly. "I've just had a time of it, that's all. I'm afraid I've lost track. So today is..."

"Wednesday!" Sandal announced, jumping up with enthusiasm and clapping his hands.

"Yes," Bodahn chuckled fondly, watching as the young dwarf started throwing his boiled potatoes into the kitchen's hearth. "My boy's right."

"Boom!" shouted Sandal as one of the potatoes fizzled in the hot embers.

"Wednesday," Hawke reiterated quietly. "What time is it? Is it dark out already?" she asked, her concerns growing tenfold for how long Fenris had been left to himself.

"The ninth bell tolled some ten minutes ago or so," Bodahn answered helpfully. "It's been dark a couple of hours now."

"The ninth bell," Hawke repeated, hoping it would not be too late for her to pay Fenris a visit. "Right, I need to freshen up a bit."

"Your staff," Bodahn added as Hawke made to leave. She looked back at him expectantly. "I let the Guard Captain put it up in your room. I hope I did right? She was quite insistent."

Hawke thought on this information for a moment before realising Bodahn was beginning to think he'd done something wrong. "Of course, Bodahn, thank you," she answered, hoping it was enough to assuage his growing fears. "Did she leave any message?"

"Not with me, Messere. No."

Hawke pouted thoughtfully before shrugging, glad her staff had been returned to her at least - not that she'd given its absence much thought till that moment. Whether it was the shrug or just the motion of turning her head back and forth, Hawke wasn't sure, but she reeled suddenly, staggering back into Orana's waiting arms. The timid elf squeaked with surprise.

Bodahn jumped to his feet. "Should I have my boy run down and fetch Master Anders?"

"No!" Hawke snapped, steeling her mind quickly. Bodahn looked up at her harsh tone. "I mean, there's little point bothering him," she elaborated. "Anders has already done everything he can. Its dizziness, it'll pass. I just need to rest."

"And eat," Orana added quietly.

"Yes, and that too," Hawke agreed, rubbing at her temples as the disorientation began to ebb.

"I'll bring you up some soup in a moment then, shall I?" Bodahn asked. Hawke simply nodded as she felt Orana begin to steer her carefully out of the kitchen.

"Finish yours first, Bodahn," she managed to add over her shoulder before the kitchen door closed.

Hawke had thought to merely wash away the grime of the day, but two days grime was possibly more than her washbasin could stand. Clubbed together with Orana's deep concern at seeing her Mistress so dishevelled and exhausted, and covered in blood, it was nigh on impossible.

Her usually shy elven servant had been prompted into such a bout of fussiness that Hawke dared not stand against what Orana determinedly felt was in her Mistress's best interest. So, some delicious soup and a quick bath later, Hawke was sitting at her dressing table, tiredly rereading the note Aveline had left by her staff.

_Maker, Hawke!_

_You really have no idea the lengths I had to go to getting this out of the Hanged Man before the Templars found it._

_It's quite distinctive in appearance and I know the Knight Captain has seen you with it before._

_I've just been to see you. An unscheduled inspection of the Darktown patrols – if you can believe that._

_You looked peaceful at least._

_What a bloody mess, literally. I assume you'll explain it all at some point._

_(You'd better. You're not dying on my watch.)_

_Wake up soon, Hawke._

_Aveline_

Hawke's eyes looked up from the well-thumbed parchment to stare at her ghostly reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her thoughts drifted as Orana pulled a brush through her hair, mulling over the word 'peaceful' in Aveline's description of her sleeping - and very near death if Anders's earlier concerns were to be believed.

Hawke had no idea how severe her injuries were till she had struggled to undress and had the bare state of her fetch a gasp of horror from Orana as she'd helped Hawke into the tub. She was literally covered in bruises, all throbbing insistently, and soothing as the bath had been her limbs were seizing up fast while she sat.

_I do look ill_, she realised, her fingers gently probing the dark circles beneath her eyes. _Like several good night's sleep are in order and still might not put me to right._ Her eyes flitted toward her bed at this, and she huffed indignantly at the idea that Anders had been correct in his 'bed rest' assessment.

When Orana had finished combing the many snarls from her hair, Hawke could barely stand, but by strength of will alone she managed to hobble over to her wardrobe in search of something suitable to wear.

"Mistress?" Orana questioned, evidently distressed that Hawke's intentions were not simply to get straight into bed and rest.

"It's alright Orana. I won't be gone long," she promised, wincing as she attempted to part her many garments and couldn't. "Could you help me find something light? I don't think I could bear anything else right now." She flexed her arms uncomfortably as she spoke, running a hand over her fresh scars.

Orana came forward - despite her obvious concerns - and helped her into a long fitting, simple linen robe.

"Thank you," Hawke acknowledged gratefully, feeling the elf free her hair from the robe's high collar. "Your attentions are very much appreciated." Maker knew she'd have been there all night otherwise.

Orana nodded with a shy smile, "Anything else, Mistress?"

"I'll need a couple of my healing phials from the study chest and a poultice, please. Just put them in my satchel, I'll be taking it with me."

"As you wish, Mistress." With that, Orana left, leaving Hawke to gingerly wrap her comfortable red shawl about her aching shoulders.

* * *

><p>The Chantry bells chimed a quarter past the tenth hour as Hawke pushed her way through Fenris's front door. Though she felt it had taken too long for her to get here, it wasn't so late. She'd been at the mansion later than this on occasion and doubted Fenris would be in bed.<p>

His chamber door stood wide open, which though not unusual, normally Fenris would have made his presence known by now whether Hawke called out in greeting or not.

Instead, as she looked into his dimly lit room, her heart clenched to find him hunched forward on the bench in front of a dying fire looking thoroughly worn, one long leg stretched out before him and his sword arm roughly bandaged in a bloody rag.

He was evidently deep into his bottles; numerous empties littered the floor about him. Even as she watched he took a long pull on the one in his hand. She fervently hoped it was his last.

"Fenris?"

His ear twitched as he turned his head fractionally toward her. "You shouldn't be here," he said. Considering the amount of alcohol he must have consumed he spoke with impressive clarity.

"Where else should I be?" Hawke asked.

"Anywhere," he replied, still refusing to look at her.

Eventually, Fenris lifted the bottle to his lips again, but when nothing came out this time he pulled it away with a grimace. Closing one eye he looked down inside the neck to be sure the wine was gone and cursed bitterly when he realised it was. With a disgusted growl he launched the empty bottle into the fire. Glass shards exploded throughout the stone hearth making the fading embers hiss.

"Doesn't 'anywhere' include here?" Hawke asked, trying to sound reasonable. "I wanted to see if you were alright."

Fenris laughed mirthlessly, running his hands over his face; cursing mages under his breath before he winced with the pain of his injured arm. He lifted it experimentally, flexing the joint. When it obviously hurt again he began unravelling the gory bandage to check it over, pretending to ignore Hawke's presence altogether.

She swept into the room, undeterred by his abrasive pretences, she'd known worse.

"You'll need better light than this if you're going to look at that," she said, able to see that Fenris was listening intently to her, if nothing else. His body tensed in a way that was discernible.

Placing her satchel down upon the free bench, Hawke stoked the fire back to life, and on adding a dry log or two to the growing flames, bathed Fenris's room in a warm light. He had fully exposed a searing gash that cut down the length of his bicep by the time she turned to face him. It was deep, angry, and obviously needed some serious attention, but before she could speak her concerns she was completely distracted. Fenris was without his armour.

She saw it then, the strange absence of it drawing her to look. Bits and pieces of leather strapping, his spiky gauntlets, his chest plate, his gaiters and sword, they were all scattered haphazardly throughout the room. All that remained of his usual attire were the dark leather leggings and tunic he normally wore underneath, and to her great surprise the latter was left hanging open to his midriff affording her a rather distinctive view of his lean physique, something she had never been privy to before.

Though it was a very pleasant sight; a true testimony to Fenris's honed warrior skills, Hawke did not wish her eyes to wander knowing how discomforting he found such attention, but his markings made it very difficult to look away. They covered his exposed chest and stomach, wrapping their way over his body; intimately accentuating the sculpted curves of every lithe muscle before disappearing out of view behind the dark leather.

She had feared but never would have believed the extent of them, having been merely hinted at over the areas of his usually exposed skin. Hawke found her eyes pulled inextricably further and further till she forced herself to blink. Fenris was undeniably the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, but the connotations were terrifying.

_How did he live through it?_ she wondered, her hand running over the seemingly insignificant scars Danarius had gifted her. _Such a small amount, but it had been agonising. It nearly killed me! _

She turned her head away feeling wretched, her mouth strangely dry. _It's wrong to look on Fenris so. He's hurt and vulnerable, and deserves so much better from me._

"It's the price of freedom, Hawke," he said, unexpectedly, concentrating solely on his injury. "It's not such a high price."

"It is if your arm falls off," she replied, allowing herself to look at him again. He scoffed in response. "You should have let Anders look at it," she added, unthinking, determined to stick her foot in her mouth it seemed. She was too tired for this.

The cold glare he fixed her with barely contained the brimming anger she knew lurked just beneath the surface. The same anger that had torn out Danarius's throat or wrecked Anders's Clinic, she needed to be more careful.

"No," he growled and looked away again.

Inwardly cringing at her suggestion, Hawke sighed deeply. "May I?" she asked, lifting her palms when he glanced up at her with wild eyes. "I can help."

"No. Leave it be," he rejected forcefully, getting to his feet and stalking away from her; sending a discarded gauntlet skidding across the floor with a swift kick.

"Fenris?"

"Why are you still here?" he asked, truly agitated now, his back hunched with all the same hurt she remembered seeing before; perhaps more. He stayed looking determinedly away from her. "You wanted to see if I was alright. Well, you've seen me."

"But, Fenris..."

"What?"

His infuriated manner left her momentarily speechless, gawking at him dumbly.

"_What?_" he snapped again, scowling over his shoulder at her.

"You're not alright," Hawke answered weakly.

Fenris laughed again. It was a bitter, despairing sound. "What did you expect?" he asked, his voice riddled with aggression as he rounded on her. "Is _the elf_ not living up to your expectations? Were you thinking I'd just forgive and forget?"

"Of course not," Hawke tried to answer, but Fenris continued over her, his voice growing in volume and anger.

"My own sister sold me out to become a Magister; told me I wanted these." He spread his arms, affording Hawke a prominent view of the markings adorning his body again. "_I fought for them!?_"

With a desolate roar he reached out for the set of shelves closest to him and ripped the whole thing from the wall, throwing it across the room in a shower of books and other belongings.

"I would have given her everything," he seethed. "I should have crushed her worthless heart."

Hawke could only watch in astonished horror as he stood breathing heavily for a second. The weight and guilt of such a declaration torturing him further as both of them knew that was exactly what he would've done had Hawke not been there in dire need of aid.

Fenris covered his face with his hands only to pull them away; looking down at his open palms repulsively. "I feel unclean, like these markings have not only marred my body but have stained my soul as well. I can't even kill him again," he added in grisly afterthought.

"Fenris."

"And you," he snarled, tossing a chair aside as he raged toward her. "You, who made me believe you understood, made me think you were my friend, made me care. You betrayed me. I should've known you're no different from the rest, _mage_."

"Fenris," Hawke began again, trying not to recoil as he loomed over her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively, desperate to explain, to pacify him in some way. She knew it was a terrible mistake the moment she touched him. He was too fractious, fuelled by too much drink, blinded by hurt and fury and left alone to brood for too long. It was such a stupid, stupid thing to do.

"Don't touch me!" he cried, his markings flaring to life as he wrenched his arm free of Hawke's gentle grasp. Within the same second he twisted her about; forcing her arm up her back and pushed her hard against the near wall. She didn't fight, not that she could have done even if she'd wished to. She simply took the impact as best she could before allowing the side of her head to rest against the cool stone.

Silence descended as they both just stood there: Fenris refusing to relinquish his hold on her; Hawke counting his slowing, wine scented breaths.

Finally the ominous haze of his markings faded and his muscles relaxed. Carefully, Fenris untwisted Hawke's arm and placed it up against the wall beside her. She had expected him to release her then, instead he just held her there, his grasp about her wrist firm, but no longer uncomfortable as he leaned his weight into her. A short time later he completely encircled her as his other hand took hold of the free arm she was already leaning on.

Hawke's emotions began to spiral out of control. It seemed impossible for her to register any of the hurt his blind rage should have aroused - not when his electrifying presence crowded her against the wall so possessively. She had nowhere to go and the idea excited her beyond reason.

_Was this the comfort I wanted?_ she asked herself, unable to move or breathe.

The overwhelming awareness of Fenris hovering mere inches from her back - so much closer than he'd ever been out of choice before - left her aching longingly, and enlivened senses had her turning her head toward the feel of his warm breath desperate for further contact, however subtle. She could just make out his slightly bowed head. His eyes were closed.

"Fenris?" Hawke whispered, gathering together her chaotic mental state in the face of his undeniable troubles. "I'm so sorry," she began, feeling a pang of excitement as his grip tightened briefly before his eyes flickered open. "I shouldn't have-"

He released her as she spoke, forcing her to pause again as his lyrium lined hands slid up to cover both of hers completely, still holding her in place. Hawke's breath caught at the sudden light caress, her eyes sinking closed to savour the sensation.

"I-I shouldn't have touched you," she stammered, thinking the complete opposite at that moment.

"It doesn't excuse my actions, Hawke," Fenris replied gravely, his deep voice so close she quivered. "I know how forthright you are, I should expect no less."

"I had to do it," she confessed.

He tensed, evidently unsure to what she was referring.

"Yesterday," Hawke clarified nervously, resting her forehead to the wall, "it was all I could think of."

Her eyes closed as the memories stirred up terrifying echoes of the fear and doubt they had suffered. Her feigned choice to let Danarius believe she would hand Fenris over, and Fenris's turmoil and disbelief at Hawke betraying him not realising it was a ruse.

_"If you want the elf, he's yours."_

"What? Why are you doing this? I thought you, I thought we... Please, Hawke, I can't do this without you!"

"You're on your own, Fenris."

Hawke shook her head at the memory. A desperate plan formed in an instant. All to lull that bastard Magister and his small army of Tevinter soldiers into a false sense of security.

"In that moment, it looked so hopeless," she muttered. "I knew we couldn't stand against them, not all alone, not without the element of surprise at least."

"It was just too much. I couldn't, I still can't..." Fenris's fingers curled about hers tentatively.

"I didn't want to hurt you, but the idea that I might lose you," Hawke's voice trembled to silence.

"I wanted to hurt you," he admitted in a whisper. "This hate, it swallows up everything, every other thought, feeling, till I'm left with nothing; wondering if I'll ever know who I am again. I struggle to rein it in, even when I know deep down I should. That's why I didn't want you here."

"Fenris, I... I hoped beyond hope you knew me well enough to know it could never be true. I was playing them to give us time, a chance, anything. How could you honestly think I would give you up?"

Hawke turned more insistently, wanting him to see the sincerity in her eyes, but he was still looking down, his expression distant.

He shook his head. "I wasn't sure," he said. "It just felt inevitable all over again. Like all my good fortune fled at the sight of him."

"Good fortune?" Hawke asked.

Finally, Fenris lifted his gaze. "I would class knowing you and ten years of freedom as good fortune, yes."

"So you have felt free?" The idea lightened Hawke's heart considerably but Fenris didn't elaborate. Instead, he allowed her hands to slip from beneath his own whilst his dark eyes searched hers, evidently trying to understand what he could see in them. His arms continued to crowd her against the wall.

"May I?" she asked at length, her attention now trained on the exposed gash down his arm. "It needs tending and you are no healer."

His expression became troubled again as he looked over his wound and then back at Hawke. She understood his trepidation.

"No magic," she promised, softly. "Remember, I'm a herbalist, too. I have brought some bits with me in fact, just in case you needed anything. In my satchel, over there." She nodded to where she had placed it down upon the bench, torn in telling him, knowing they would have to move away from this sudden closeness in order to reach her bag.

It seemed Fenris felt the same. He altered his position, enough to stop her attempting to duck under his injured arm, and turned, stretching out as far as he could to grasp the long leather strap of Hawke's satchel. He managed it, offering it to her without a word. As she thanked him he lifted his hand to the wall again, encircling her once more.

Hawke could feel him watching her in the lingering silence. It made her blush profusely, but she ignored her discomfort, trying to remain focused on the task at hand, digging through her bag as best she could in the meagre space left between them. Eventually she managed to extract the clean square of muslin and healing salve she sought and let the bag drop to the floor at her side.

"This might sting," she warned, emptying a small amount of the salve onto the muslin and hovering with it just above Fenris's afflicted arm, waiting as she gave him a quick glance. His eyes held hers briefly before he nodded his assent.

Hawke noticed an infinitesimal flex of his arm as she began gently dabbing over the wound, but when she checked to make sure he was alright, he appeared neutral to any soreness as he stared away toward the fire.

Long minutes passed as she tended him, and though she was very aware of his eyes having returned to her, she was too much of a coward to meet them, fearing to lose herself in the strange intensity of the moment. So, to be sure of her self-control, Hawke forced herself to be meticulous, taking far longer than would have otherwise been necessary in preparing his wound for a fresh bandage.

"Am I to lose the arm after all?" Fenris asked suddenly, drawing her eyes to his in confusion. "Whenever you get that look to your brow, I know it's something serious."

"Look to my...?" Hawke replied perplexed, but noticed the corner of his mouth was lifted in a half smile._ He's making fun of me. Damn him! _"Well I'm glad my face amuses you," she responded testily, looking back to her task with a frustrated sigh. "Your arm will be fine. It just needed some better attention earlier. Drinking yourself into oblivion doesn't qualify as medicinal, you know?"

Fenris didn't respond, but continued studying her. It was as if he'd never really seen her clearly before and wanted to take in every detail. Hawke reached down for her bag again, replacing the salve and spent muslin and began rooting for a moment before cursing.

"I knew there was something I'd forgotten, bandages!" She swiftly scanned the room, scouting for anything half-decent that could be used instead. "I assume bloody rags are all you packed, hmm?" she asked Fenris.

He shrugged, "It doesn't matter, Hawke. It already feels better. It'll be fine."

"It needs bandaging," she insisted, suddenly looking down at her own attire and pulling her long red shawl from about her shoulders. "This should do," she added, assessing the material's width in relation to being able to wrap around Fenris's arm comfortably.

"That is your favourite," he murmured, realising what she intended.

She looked up in surprise. _How does he know that?_ "It's old," she replied, her fingers grasping firmly at one end of the material ready to tear a strip off.

Fenris stayed her hands, his light touch a striking contradiction to his earlier roughness. "Age has little effect on favour," he said.

Hawke looked up at him again, a mix of emotions running through her at his concern, and the delightful feeling of his warm hand on hers.

"It is your favourite," he said again.

"Then let it mean something," she suggested. "That I would be willing to tear up my 'favourite' red shawl and use it for bandage, and not find you something else, some ragged bit of cloth."

Fenris released her instantly, his expression a little stunned as he rested his arm against the wall again.

With a satisfying rip, Hawke tore off a long strip and set about wrapping it around his arm, secretly marvelling at his muscular definition... before guilt gripped her to be thinking of him in such a way again.

When she had finished tying the bandage in place Fenris pulled away to test the feel of it, and Hawke took the opportunity to tear off another length from her shawl.

"So you can redress it tomorrow," she explained on seeing his confused expression. He watched as she tossed the torn fabric over to the bench and nodded his understanding. That done, Hawke adjusted the remains of her shawl about her shoulders, and just to be safe, clasped her hands firmly behind her, pinning them between her back and the wall.

She began to register her own aches returning with a vengeance as she stood there. It didn't help that she had a couple of fresh bruises to add to her already substantial collection now, though she understood it had not been a deliberate assault on Fenris's part. His beaten-in instinct to lash out was not a new one, and not one of his own making.

With a long sigh, he ran a hand over his new bandage. "Discovering my past was meant to bring a sense of belonging. I was wrong," he muttered, his eyes closing sadly. "Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing left for me to reclaim. I am alone."

"Is that truly how you feel? Alone?" Hawke asked, wondering if this closeness between them meant anything to him.

He looked lost as he tried to form an answer. After a moment he simply shook his head.

"I'm here, Fenris," she assured him.

He rested his good arm upon the wall beside her and brought his face intimately closer.

_Maker_, she breathed, totally overcome by the low, simmering burn of desire she had for him being stoked to a healthy blaze. "And I would never give you up to anyone, you must know that?" she whispered, blushing as she searched his dark green eyes and fought the urge to release her hands.

"I do now," he answered softly, and Hawke quivered afresh. The proximity of his voice was truly intoxicating. "It nearly cost you your life." He looked over her face uneasily, almost questioning if she was really there, standing in front of him. "That will never happen again, not for me."

"It was my decision," Hawke replied, the whole hearted truth of her words giving her the confidence to look at him as she spoke. "I would never choose to let you die, not if I knew I could prevent it, even with my own life."

"Hawke," Fenris chastised, his voice faint.

"My decision," she reiterated, placing her hand to her chest to emphasize the point.

They stared at each other for a long time then, unmoving, thinking over what had happened and what had been declared between them. It was everything and nothing.

The night cast long shadows about them as the fire began to dim again and the darkness of the room finally forced Hawke to take in the late hour.

"I should go," she murmured.

"Stay," Fenris implored.

Such a simple invitation, but it left Hawke feeling weak as she looked back into Fenris's face and was able to see his avidity for her for the first time.

Her eyes slipped closed at the unexpected tender touch of his hand against her cheek, his thumb stroking softly over her trembling lower lip.

_This is the comfort I need,_ she realised with a faint moan of satisfaction. It was nearly her undoing.

She pulled her face away, embarrassed by her own desires, but his hand was more demanding as he coaxed her to look at him again, his fingers gently caressing along the edge of her ear.

"Stay," he repeated simply, and in that instant Hawke knew there was nothing she wanted to do more. _It would be the easiest thing in the world to stay, to let him take comfort in me, to lay with him._

Hawke snatched her face away in earnest. "I shouldn't," she responded desolately, pushing against the hand that held her cheek, her heart pounding argumentatively in her chest. _I won't do that to him, not now, not after all he's been through._

Fenris let her go, instantly dropping his arm out of her way, but his head remained inclined forward with his white hair partly shielding his elven profile.

"I will not be your biggest regret, Fenris," Hawke explained, walking over to the other side of the room, finding it easier to think now there was more space between them. "I'm a mage for always. Your friend? Yes, but always a mage."

He glanced over at her, and she noted his questioning expression, no doubt wondering at her choice of words. Deliberately similar to something she had once heard him mutter under his breath a long time ago.

"And you hate mages," she added, knowingly.

It was hardly a fact he could refute and he didn't. Fenris offered no reply at all, in fact, and resumed staring at the wall intently.

After a long silence Hawke decided she should go, unable to trust herself in the current circumstance not to say or do something inherently stupid and make matters far more difficult.

"When you feel ready to sleep, I suggest drinking one of the red phials in my bag, it'll help," she promised, watching as Fenris looked down at her satchel by his feet. "You'll have a brutal hangover otherwise."

He remained silent.

"I'll leave you with that," she said, pointing to her bag. She hadn't intended to leave it, but found she didn't really trust herself to get so close to him to retrieve it. It'd be too easy to put her arms around him and undo everything she had just done to protect him. Everything her aching heart longed for her to undo, but if she claimed him now she'd never let him go.

_And Fenris needs to be free,_ she thought passionately, _needs it more than anyone else in the world._

"You'll be able to redress your arm tomorrow then," she continued, her voice thick, "or you can come see me if you like, I'll sort it for you."

Still, he said nothing.

"I'll be home," she muttered in passing, desperately hoping he would offer her a glance, a word, something in parting.

"Hawke?"

Her heart thumped awkwardly as his deep voice froze her in the doorway. She closed her eyes, rested her hand against the frame to steady herself and took a calming breath.

"I don't hate you," he assured, turning his head to look at her.

Hawke looked back, desperately torn. Was leaving the right thing to do? She didn't want to leave, but with everything that had happened, his hurt, anger, and alcohol consumption, wouldn't she just be taking advantage of him? How would that make her any better than a Magister like Danarius, putting her desire for him before his own best interest?

_Not now. Not like this,_ she resolved.

"Good to know," Hawke replied with a faint smile, patting the door frame nervously.

Finally she gave Fenris a cursory nod of her head in goodbye and disappeared into the night.


End file.
